A sense of dread grows in some of the poorest countries in the world as virus cases grow and more contagious variants tackle a crippling shortage of vaccines. The crisis has alerted public health officials along with millions of unvaccinated people, especially those who are struggling in the informal economy that is not the book, living hand-to-mouth and paying cash in health crises.
With intensive care units filled in cities overwhelmed by the pandemic, serious illness can be a death sentence. Africa is particularly vulnerable. The continent’s 1.3 billion people account for 18% of the world’s population, but it has received only 2% of all vaccine doses administered globally. And some African countries have not yet fired a single shot.
Health experts and world leaders have repeatedly warned that even if rich countries immunize their entire people, the pandemic will not be defeated if the virus is allowed to spread in countries starved of vaccines.
“Throughout this pandemic, we have said that we are not safe unless we are all safe,” said John Nkengasong, a Cameroonian virologist who heads the Africa Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. “We are only as strong as the weakest link.”
Zimbabwe, which has introduced new lock-in measures due to a sharp increase in deaths and cases in the country with more than 15 million people, has used just over one million in 1.7 million doses, blaming the lack of logistical challenges in urban areas.
Long lines are now forming at centers such as Parirenyatwa Hospital, unlike months ago when authorities asked people to be vaccinated. Many are worried when winter begins and the variant that was first identified in South Africa spread in Harare, where young people are forced into betting houses, some with masks hanging from their chins and others without.
“Most people do not wear masks. There is no social distancing. The only answer is a vaccine, but I can not get it,” says Maronjei.
At the beginning of the pandemic, many deeply poor countries with weak health care systems seemed to have avoided the worst. That is changing.
In Zambia, where a vaccination campaign has stopped, authorities reported that the country is running out of bottled oxygen. Sick people whose symptoms are not serious are rejected by hospitals in the capital Lusaka.
“When we reached the hospital, we were told there was no place for her,” Jane Bwalya said of her 70-year-old grandmother. “They told us to deal with the disease from home. So we went home and we try to give her any medicine that can reduce the symptoms.”
Uganda is also fighting for a sharp increase in cases and sees a number of variants. Authorities report that the increase infects more people in their 20s and 30s. The intensive care units in and around the capital Kampala are almost full and Misaki Wayengera, a doctor who heads a committee advising the Ugandan government, said some patients “ask for someone to pass on” so they can get an ICU bed.
Many Ugandans feel hopeless when they see the astronomical medical bills of patients coming from intensive care. Some have turned to the composition of cooked herbs for protection. On social media, suggestions include lemongrass and small flowering plants. It has raised fears of poisoning.
Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni introduced new restrictions this month that included closing all schools. But he avoided the extreme lock-in measures last year and said he did not want to harm the livelihoods of people in a country with a huge informal sector. For beauticians, restaurant workers and suppliers in cramped outdoor markets who struggle to put food on the table, the threat from COVID-19 can be great, but it takes hard to even take a day off when sick. Testing costs $ 22 to $ 65 – prohibitive for the working class.
“If I did not feel very ill, I would not waste all my money on testing COVID,” said Aisha Mbabazi, a waitress at a restaurant just outside Kampala. The 28-year-old had a fright several weeks ago, she said and noted that a COVID-19 infection could cost her her job if her employer found out, but she has not been able to get a shot.
“I really wanted the vaccine, for us you can get COVID at any time,” she said. “Even just touching the menu.”
Dr Ian Clarke, who founded a hospital in Uganda, said that although the demand for vaccines is growing among the formerly hesitant, “the downside is that we do not know when or where we will get the next round” of shots. has registered more than 5 million confirmed COVID-19 cases, including 135,000 deaths.
It is a small fraction of the world’s falls, but many fear that the crisis could get much worse. Nearly 90% of African countries will miss the global target of vaccinating 10% of their population by September, according to the World Health Organization (WHO). A major problem is that COVAX, the UN-supported project to deliver vaccines to poor corners of the world, is itself facing a serious shortage of vaccines.
Amid a global outcry over the gap between those who do not have it, the United States, Britain and the other rich G-7 countries agreed last week to share at least one billion doses with warring countries next year, with deliveries beginning in August.
Meanwhile, many of the world’s poor are waiting and worrying. In Afghanistan, where a rise threatens to overwhelm a war-based health care system, 700,000 doses donated by China arrived over the weekend, and within hours “people were fighting each other to get to the line,” the health ministry said. talesman Dr. Ghulam Dastigir Nazari.
The vaccine rush is remarkable in a country where many question the reality of the virus and rarely wear masks or social distances and often mock those who do. By the end of May, about 600,000 Afghans had received at least one dose, or less than 2% of the population of 36 million. But the number of fully vaccinated is small – “so few that I could not even say any percentage”, according to Nazari.
In Haiti, hospitals are rejecting patients because the country is waiting for its first delivery of vaccines. A major delivery via COVAX was delayed due to the government’s concerns about side effects and lack of infrastructure to keep doses properly cooled.
“I’m in danger every day,” said Nacheline Nazon, a 22-year-old salesman who takes a colorful, cramped bus called a tap-tap to work in a clothing store in Haiti’s capital, Port-au-Prince, because that’s all she can afford. She said she was wearing a mask and washing her hands. If the vaccine becomes available, she said: “I will probably be the first in line to receive it.”
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